


i know who i want to take me home

by 40millionyears



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/40millionyears/pseuds/40millionyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-1x21. in which various members of the 99 team try to help jake with his amy problem, and in which the bar is the best place for this help to occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know who i want to take me home

**Author's Note:**

> un-betaed, conversation-heavy, and playing fast and loose with punctuation. desperately tried to finish this before it gets completely jossed by the finale.

GINA  
 _(a Friday night, post-solved-case)  
  
_ Here’s the thing about Jake’s feelings for Amy: he never meant to have them, really. They just kind of appeared one day and kept growing, slowly, until winning the bet became less about the win and more about the chance of spending time with her. And god, it was just _such a cliché,_ falling for your partner. He’s almost disappointed in himself. So if he separates himself from the team at some point during the night to sit in his booth and pointedly not deal with those feelings through large amounts of alcohol, that’s just what happens.  
  
On this particular night, Amy is with Teddy at the other end of the bar, and she is definitely wearing lipstick, and so he and his beer are in their booth.  
  
He smells Gina approach before he sees her (or more accurately, he smells Dina Lohan, but presumes that in all likelihood the actual Dina Lohan is not hanging out in a cop bar in Brooklyn). She plops down across from him and studies him from over the top of an offensively bright pink cocktail.  
  
“Why so down, sad clown?”  
  
Momentarily distracted by the diamante-enhanced dancing chihuahua adorning Gina’s sweater, he gestures half-heartedly at Amy and Teddy before remembering that this was one of those things that way too many people already knew about. She follows his wave, and turns her gaze back to him with a devious grin.  
  
“Amy? Really? You’re into Amy?”  
  
“Kind of. Maybe. A lot. Yeah.”  
  
“Is it the pulled-back hair that’s doing it for you, or…?”  
  
Jake rolls his eyes and slumps further down in his seat, spinning his beer glass on the table.  
  
“Ohhh, little lamb,” Gina coos, reaching over and patting his hand. “This is serious? Let me help. I’m great at advice. And everything.”  
  
“Okay, seeing as your eight engagements make you exactly the best person to turn to for this… what do I do?”  
  
“Well, in my extensive experience, there’s one question you need to ask yourself here. What would Taylor do?”  
  
“Date Amy for six weeks, fall in love way too fast, get dumped, and write a hit song about it? That’s not really the outcome I’m hoping for, Gina.”  
  
She fixes him with an exasperated look, slurping her cocktail. “Taylor wouldn’t be afraid of being honest about her feelings, even if she might get hurt.”  
  
“That’s… actually sorta true.”  
  
Gina nods sagely. “I know. My wisdom is truly a gift.  
  
  
***  
  
  
ROSA  
 _(another case solved, another Friday night, not long after the last one)  
  
_ Two shot glasses slam down on the table in front of him, their mysterious honey-brown contents sloshing over the rims. Rosa slides into the other side of the booth, beer firmly in hand, stony-faced as ever.  
  
“Peralta, this is a celebration. Why aren’t you over there being happy with the rest of these jerks?”  
  
“Because instead I’m over here being not happy by myself. Don’t tell me how to celebrate, Rosa, you don’t own me.”  
  
She just stares, expression caught between annoyance, impatience, and (he thinks) the merest hint of concern, and pushes the shots closer to him. Jake tosses the liquor back and winces (how was it both hot and cold?), but reaches out and claims the next one for good measure.  
  
“What’s wrong with you? Is this about Santiago and her thumb-faced boyfriend?”  
  
He chokes on the second shot. “What? No. How did you know that?”  
  
“One, Gina told me. Two, Boyle told me. Three, you’re painfully obvious and I’m not a complete idiot.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So what are you gonna do about it? Because depressed pining is not attractive on you.”  
  
“That, I have not figured out yet, despite many attempts by our overly invested co-workers. You should play too. What would you do?”  
  
“Find a stranger. Bone down, maybe two or three times. Feelings over.”  
  
“That is literally the advice you give me in any situation ever.”  
  
Rosa shrugs, quirking an eyebrow slightly. “Because it always works.”  
  
He considers this. “You have a point. But I don’t think it’s gonna help this time.”  
  
“Because you only want to bone down with Santiago now?”  
  
“Well, gross, but yes. I do. And more than that. But it doesn’t really matter, because she’s her and I’m—” he gestures vaguely at himself “—you know, this, and it’s evidently a one-way street kind of thing.”  
  
Rosa pauses for a moment, weighing up exactly how involved she’s willing to get with someone else’s emotional problems.  
  
“You’re my friend, Jake, so I’m gonna say this, and then we’re going to pretend like I didn’t just go Dr Phil on you. It’s not a one-way street.”  
  
“How would you even know that?” he asks, trying to quell the hammering of hope in his chest, trying not to make it a _thing,_ but Rosa’s hardly going to lie to him to spare his feelings. Not about this (or anything, really, ever).  
  
“Again, not an idiot. Santiago’s as transparent as you are, she’s just masking it by boning someone else. And yeah, she’s into all that ‘good listener, opens doors’ crap, which is insanely boring, but it just means she’s into decent guys. You’re a good guy, Jake. Stop assuming that that’s not enough.”  
  
She rises, beer emptied and moment over, and grips him briefly on the shoulder as she passes. “If you really want something, Peralta, man the fuck up and go try to get it.”   
  
  
***  
  
  
BOYLE  
 _(okay, so they’re there pretty much every Friday night)  
  
_ Boyle’s latest approach is just to play “Tell Her About It” on repeat on the bar’s jukebox and shoot him pointed looks, so Jake’s pretty sure he knows where Charles stands in all of this.  
  
  
***  
  
  
HOLT  
 _(a Sunday afternoon, where we start at the precinct but end up, of course, at the bar)  
  
_ Jake’s at his desk in the mostly empty bullpen, feet propped up on a stack of cold case files that he’s picking through in search of the most awesomely gruesome one, when Holt wanders out of his office.  
  
“Peralta, I’m certain you had today off.”  
  
“You know me, Captain. I will not rest until every crime ever committed in this great city has been solved. By me. Personally. Because I’m the best detective-slash-genius ever.”  
  
“Come with me, Peralta.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and so Jake follows dutifully.  
  


          ---  
  
  
“Not that I don’t love this, Captain, because it totally cements our status as homies, but why are we drinking at 2pm on a Sunday?”

  
“I’m now off duty, you were never on duty, and you look very much like you need it.”  
  
They sit – “It has to be this booth, Captain. This is sort of my place now. My butt’s made its own special groove in the pleather” – and Holt studies him across the scarred wood of the table.  
  
“Peralta, you have worked through your last six days off. You have been frighteningly focused, especially for you. What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s nothing, Captain. I’m just on a streak. And you know what they say about a streak! When you’re on one, you…” he trails off with a shrug. “Yeah, I didn’t really have anywhere to go there, I don’t know what they say.”  
  
“Does this have anything to do with Santiago?”  
  
Jake lets his head drop back against the wall, defeated and a little relieved. “God, you know too? It is impossible to be secretly in love with someone around here.”  
  
“I’m a detective, Peralta, and you are not a good liar. Also Gina has been sending me daily text updates on your… situation for some time. She’s extremely nosy.”  
  
He straightens up again and nods ruefully. “Always has been.”  
  
Holt peers at him through his glasses, with what Jake thinks might be genuine interest (but could also alternately be disgust or pity, he _really_ still can’t read him). “Are you worried about the fraternization regulations? Because I do have some discretion over those.”  
  
“I actually hadn’t even thought that far ahead,” Jake admits.  
  
“So what’s the problem?”  
  
He’s actually doing this; he’s workshopping his romantic tribulations with his boss, who is also Amy’s boss, the subject of said tribulations, and who is apparently a secret office Cupid. It’s definitely one of the weirder days Jake’s had.  
  
“I’m not the guy that… she doesn’t feel the same. And also, she already has a boyfriend, who apparently is the guy, so that’s a pretty giant bummer.”  
  
Holt’s eyes soften the tiniest bit. “Peralta, do you know why I allowed the bet between you and Santiago to continue when I started?”  
  
“Because deep down you were hoping it would turn into a fight to the death to appease your secret bloodlust?” Jake guesses. “Sorry, still uncomfortable with emotions.”  
  
“Because,” Holt continues, ignoring his attempted deflection, “I could see that the two of you are a good team. Your strengths and weaknesses are complementary and you seem to bring out the best in each other. Don’t you think those qualities might also be conducive to a different kind of partnership?”  
  
“Thanks, Captain. I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Do. Life is too short to be unhappy, Peralta.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
AMY  
 _(a Saturday night this time, eternally the same bar)  
  
_ The Vulture has once again been defeated, so of course they end up at the bar. The team slowly dwindles as the night progresses until it’s just Rosa and Jake, and the former is at the bar hitting on a 20-something uniform who just has **no** idea what he’s in for.  
  
Jake’s on his seventh beer and feeling pretty good, having kicked a young couple out of the booth, because hi, this was _his_ wallowing table, everyone knew that by now, and they could find somewhere else to covertly grope each other. Amy had declined to come out and Terry had thrown him pitied glances all night, so it’s as good time as any for wallowing.  
  
“Pineapples!” he hears, speak of the devil, and looks over his shoulder to spot a decidedly _not_ sober Amy weaving her way towards him through the crowd.  
  
“Santiago, hey. Where’s, uh, where’s Teddy? I thought you two were… ”  
  
“Jake, why are you avoiding me?”  
  
Her eyes are wide and alcohol-bright and her skin a little flushed as she stares at him questioningly.  
  
“Ohh-kay, where have you been, because I think there might be a bit of alcohol talking here…”  
  
“I’m not drunk. Well okay I’m drunk, but I’m drunk like singing-Taylor-Swift-karaoke drunk, not I-don’t-know-what-I’m-saying drunk.” She hums a few bars that are way too accurate for a woman who claims to have never listened to _Red_ (and god, he **has** to remember this for its future teasing potential, even as his heart is doing these weird achy little turns in his chest because of the way her mouth moves around the tune.) “I had to drink, you know, for courage. For this. Because you’ve barely talked to me outside of work for weeks and I want to know why.”  
  
“I haven’t… it’s not…”  
  
“You can’t still be angry about Major Crimes after seeing the Vulture again, because you’ve got that photo and talk about holding a grudge—”  
  
“Amy.”  
  
“—so if it’s not that, then it’s gotta be—”  
  
“Amy.”  
  
“Jake, I know that you like me.”  
  
There’s a good 30 seconds where neither of them move. He just gapes at her, dumbfounded, and she gazes back at him, steady, challengingly. This would be the moment, he thinks, to man the fuck up. Cards on the table.  
  
In the actual moment, he goes for a different tack entirely.  
  
“What? No, I don’t. I don’t like you. That’s stupid. That would be stupid. You’re stupid.” Okay, so he might be a little drunk as well. “Wait, did Rosa say something? Or Gina? Or Boyle? Or the Sarge or the Captain? Because they’re all terrible detectives who don’t know what they’re talking about.”  
  
Her face crinkles up in confusion. “You don’t like me?”  
  
“No. I mean yes. I mean, obviously I like you. You’re my partner. And yeah, maybe I kinda just want to be around you all the time and I hate that Teddy gets to go out with you and I don’t and sometimes I think about stroking your hair as we lay on the couch watching Die Hard together, but whatever. Those are totally normal partner-shaped feelings to have, it’s not a big deal.”  
  
He definitely meant to stop at ‘partner’, because as much as he’s sick of bottling it up (especially since she apparently already knows, which he figures he should have seen coming, since she _is_ a great detective) the rest was the kind of things you say to a girl over real non-vending-machine dinners or on best-date-ever rooftop stakeouts. Not here, not half-drunk in a bar when the girl in question still has a boyfriend and is worth so much more.  
  
Amy’s eyes widen even more as she nods furiously. “What, no, um, totally, that’s… definitely normal. The normalest. Cool. Cool.”  
  
And then she covers her mouth with her hand, spins, and runs into the women’s restroom.  
  
  
***  
  
  
ROSA (AGAIN)  
 _(literally fifteen seconds later)  
  
_ Rosa’s all but dragging the baby-faced officer out of the bar by his belt, and as she passes him, he hears “do **not** fuck this up, Jake” muttered fiercely into his ear.  
  
  
***  
  
AMY (AGAIN)  
 _(same night, same place, 17 minutes after the fact)  
  
_ A little while ago he might have accidentally confessed to his partner that he kind of loved her, and she might have responded by immediately needing to vomit, so his first reaction is to retreat to the booth.  But he thinks for a long time about being honest, about going for what he wants, about not being unhappy, about taking Billy Joel’s advice and just _telling her everything he feels,_ and he snakes his way back through the thinning crowds.  
  
He finds her out on the back deck, hunched on the lowest step, smoke rising in soft curls around her.  
  
“Am I really worthy of a shame cigarette?” he asks, lowering himself down next to her.  
  
She keeps her gaze focused on her feet, flicking the butt into the bin at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s more of a clarity cigarette.”  
  
“Amy, I…”  
  
“Jake, you don’t have to, you know. We’re drunk, we said stuff. It’s fine.”  
  
She’s looking anywhere but at him, and he’s finally had enough of pretending, boyfriend or not, drunk or sober or anywhere in between, that he isn’t ridiculously head-over-heels for her.  
  
“No, it’s not.”  
  
He reaches across, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her. _Really_ kisses her, cradling her head and knotting his hands in her hair, because he’s got a lot of pent-up feelings, and because it’s what Billy and Taylor would do, and because he wants to. He just really wants to know what it’s like to kiss Amy Santiago.  
  
 _(it’s awesome)  
  
_ It’s also over way too fast, the feeling of her lips still ghosting over his as he shifts backwards.  
  
“I’m sorry, I just had to do that once. Because I’m definitely resigning in disgrace tomorrow to save us both from the never-ending awkwardness of this situation, and I know you’re with Teddy and I’m sorry, again, but I just had to know.”  
  
“I broke up with Teddy a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
It’s the second time she’s rendered him speechless tonight; the woman has mastered the art of dropping a bombshell.  
  
“Which you would know,” she adds, “if you hadn’t been so intent on avoiding me.”  
  
“What? Okay. Wow. What? Why?”  
  
“Because I could picture a future with him, and it was full of police codes and polite dinners and conversations that never go anywhere. And it was so boring, Jake. It was so boring and unfulfilling and it’s not what I want. And also Rosa said he had a thumb face.” She breaks into giggles at this, but quickly turns serious again. “And then I thought about you.”  
  
His heart takes up that terrifying beat of hope again. “You did?”  
  
“Yeah. I thought about how you crashed my dates, and how you turned down the relief squad, and how sometimes I see you looking at me when you think I don’t. And how I really don’t mind any of it. I actually kind of like it. And it all means something, I think, or it could. And also Gina and Rosa told me about your feelings, point blank and very explicitly, just to be sure.”  
  
He skips over this terrible betrayal by his confessors to get to the important part. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”  
  
“Because I was confused? Because I didn’t know what you meant by it. If you were for real. You and me, Jake – it could never be a casual thing. I couldn’t do that, and so I didn’t want to… start something we both weren’t ready to finish.”  
  
He looks at her in amazement. “You’re actually absurd, you know that? If you think that this could be some one night thing to me? You’re an insane person. I mean, I’m being serious about work. I’ve started texting you with proper punctuation. Two weeks ago you said ‘it’s meant to be better the second time’ and I did **not** make a sex tape joke!”  
  
She nods solemnly. “I did notice that. I was worried.”  
  
“I’ve been trying here, Amy. To make you see that I can do this. That I’m ready.”  
  
She smiles and takes his hand, tugging him closer. “Me too.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
JAKE & AMY  
 _(one minute later, or five weeks, or seven years)  
  
_ Here’s the thing about Jake’s feelings for Amy: it turns out that Billy Joel definitely knew what he was talking about.


End file.
